


Fueling the Fire

by nuckdewtonn



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Moderate Violence, POV Alternating, Unresolved Emotional Tension, canon adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25040038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuckdewtonn/pseuds/nuckdewtonn
Summary: Geralt has been a bit more temperamental than normal and Jaskier is staring to suspect it might have something to do with him. Before either can sort any of that out Jaskier is kidnapped by a local Lord looking to use him as a bargaining chip for Geralt's services. Geralt, of course, is less than pleased with this for a variety of reasons.Chapters alternate POV between Jaskier and GeraltSome violence, nothing too graphic.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 151





	1. The Centipede Incident

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic so please be kind! I wrote it for fun and I've been toying with the idea of posting it for a few months now. Hope you enjoy!

**Geralt’s POV**

It had been a longer week than normal, which is saying something considering Geralt’s line of work. It was mostly travel, a couple of bar visits, a pair of gryphons and a few ghouls, not much by Witcher standards. If it were any other time, Geralt might have even said it had been a decent week, something that’s often few and far between, if it hadn’t been for...

“-I’m telling you Geralt, this new song is gonna blow the locals away. They’ll be sharing your story for decades to come!” Jaskier boasts as he walks absentmindedly next to Roach.

“Telling my stories, don’t you mean your lies?” Geralt grumbles back. Jaskier had unfortunately made his way back to Geralt’s side. Why? Geralt didn’t really know, or care, but it was getting under his skin. 

“Lies!” Jaskier stops in his tracks for dramatic effect before jumping a few steps to continue his careless pace, “Geralt I don’t sing lies, only extensions of the truth!”

The white haired Witcher only rolls his eyes in response. They had been on the road for four days, chasing a potential lead in town that was still a day and a half away. Geralt’s patience was wearing thin.

“Besides,” the bard continues, “if you were more likable I wouldn’t have to extend the truth in the first place”

Geralt scoffs, “I don’t need to be likable, bard”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the lonesome white wolf reputation, whatever. All I’m proposing is that you cut out the constant brooding, you know, wipe off the blood and viscera before waltzing into populated areas, that sort of thing” 

The Witcher remains silent, refusing to partake in Jaskier’s game. He shouldn’t have started the conversation in the first place. 

The bard continues, “You really just walk around stinking of guts and sweat, it’s a miracle they let you into towns at all-”

“Quiet.” Geralt stops Roach in her tracks. His amber eyes dart around the trail. Something’s not right. 

“What did my riffing finally get to you? Geralt, I didn’t take you to be-”

“Shut the hell up Jaskier!” Geralt barks. 

Before either man can think the ground in front of them explodes in a storm of dirt and dust. Roach reels back, throwing Geralt to the ground, and promptly sprints off in the other direction. Sprung from the dirt is a giant centipede clicking its massive pincers. 

The bug lunges as Geralt pulls himself from the ground and draws his silver sword from its sheath on his back. He dashes forward in front of the bard, sword pointed in the same direction. It connects with the heavy chitin of the centipedes pincers, knocking them away but only leaving a scratch.

“Move!” Geralt shouts to Jaskier who, despite the horrific creature in front of him, is still frozen in place. The centipede rears back and swings itself downward, unknowingly onto Geralt’s ready blade. It lets out a shriek of pain as the Witcher rips the sword from its flesh. 

The Witcher turns to Jaskier again, who is still frozen in place. “Are you dull? Get the fuck out of here!” 

The smaller man only stares and trembles. 

Geralt grunts in frustration before shoving a free hand outward, pushing the unwilling bard away with quick magic. Jaskier flies backwards hitting the ground with a loud thud. Geralt turns his attention back to the monster. Before he can think, the Witcher is knocked to the ground again as the centipede takes out his legs with its massive tail. 

“Fuck” Geralt hisses. Without warning the ground near Jaskier erupts in a similar fashion as before. 

“Geralt there’s another!” Jaskier squeaks as he attempts to scramble away from the second bug. At least he’s using his head now. 

The Witcher gets to his feet dodging another swing from the original centipede. “Thank you bard,” he says dryly. The bug lunges at him again. Geralt ducks, sword raised, and slices the underbelly of the creature spilling guts onto the ground and himself. It’s body slumps to the ground without a semblance of grace. 

Geralt turns toward the other centipede. It has wrapped itself around a screaming Jaskier, attempting to strangle him. With a couple quick steps and a calculated swing the bug is decapitated, its body loosening around the bard. Jaskier climbs clumsily out of the carcass, disgust plain across his face.

“You know for someone who travels with a Witcher, I’d expect you’d have better instincts.” Geralt huffs. He wipes centipede guts from his face unceremoniously. 

“Well I uh… I don’t… There’s a reason I’m a bard and not a knight, Geralt” Jaskier says. It’s a weak response and it only serves to make Geralt angrier.

“Even a drunkard would run if a giant centipede burst from the ground before him” Geralt says coldly. He whistles for Roach and pulls out a cloth to wipe various bug juices from his sword. He doesn’t have time for this.

The bard huffs. A redness radiates from his face, a mix of embarrassment and frustration the Witcher supposes. He’s clearly run out of witty responses so instead he says “What do you want a fucking, thank you?” 

Geralt steps toward the bard menacingly. He grabs Jaskier by the collar with his free hand, his amber eyes angry and piercing. Jaskier gulps as he feels the Witcher’s heavy breath on his face. “Don’t make my job harder than it has to be.” The pair stares at each other for what feels like ages. 

Finally Geralt drops Jaskier who promptly stumbles backwards. The bard says nothing as Geralt mounts Roach and the two continue their travel in silence.


	2. The Bard Starts Thinking

**Jaskier’s POV**

A day had passed since the centipede incident. It had been a bit awkward for the first four hours or so but Jaskier decided that he wasn’t a fan of the brooding so he gave Geralt a half hearted apology. The apology that had elicited a more engaged grunt than normal so he’d called it a success and the two carried on as before: Jaskier talking and Geralt pretending not to listen. 

Even though, Jaskier still found himself thinking about it the following night. The pair had made camp a few hours after dark. Geralt had gone to catch them a meal and Jaskier was sitting staring into the orange flames of the little campfire the Witcher had built. 

Built was maybe too generous, the man could do magic afterall.

The bard tried to think about other things but his mind kept wandering back to Geralt, holding him by the shirt, eyes full of rage. Jaskier had experience with Geralt’s anger before, but this… It was rage in a way Jaskier didn’t recognize. Like something else besides Jaskier’s shortcomings had sparked it. 

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Geralt’s heavy steps returning to their little camp site. Jaskier turns to look at him. The Witcher is carrying a recently dead deer which he flops onto the ground next to Jaskier. The bard jumps back in surprise.

Geralt grunts before setting to work carving the carcass, “So your intuition is still intact after all,”

This again? “Can we not just let it go Geralt?” Jaskier says. The Witcher has been relatively quiet all day, of course the second he opened his mouth it was something rude.

Geralt smirks and says nothing. What sort of brutish teasing was this? Jaskeir didn’t care for it. He flops back onto the ground dramatically. He was tired, sore and hungry. The last thing he wanted was more of the Witcher’s mockery. 

\---

About an hour and a full stomach later, Jaskier found himself in better spirits, ready for whatever game Geralt wanted to play. Except this time he was going to make the first move. 

“You know it’s kind of funny…” he starts, tone inquisitive but not so harsh as to scare the Witcher off. 

Geralt side eyes him, “What.” Got him.

“I was always under the impression that Witcher’s didn’t have, well, feelings,” Jaskier prods, rising to his feet.

“What are you on about?” Jaskier hadn’t expected a full answer for that one, he’d figured he’d get a sort of grumble as per usual. Geralt must be in a good mood. That wasn’t going to last long.

The bard begins pacing, mostly for the effect but also so he’d be a moving target, harder to hit if things went awry. “I suppose it just seems odd, to me, that one would get so angry, so brutish, at the thought of another being unable to defend himself,” he pauses for effect, “especially considering that in your line of work all you do is protect people,”

“You think a Witcher’s job is to protect people?” Jaskier knew that one would get under his skin. 

“Let’s be honest Geralt, people come to you with monsters they can’t kill and for a few coins you handle it, and while your intent may be to get those few coins, you can’t argue that killing those monsters isn’t protecting people,”

Geralt’s face has gone from disinterest to frustration in record time, the bard was winning, “You think by saying a lot it will make you sound smarter.” 

Jaskier dodges that and continues, “I’m just saying you're well used to clueless humans getting too close to monsters, why would it be that when it’s me you get, arguably, angrier than if it were someone else?” He doesn’t give the Witcher a chance to answer, “My running theory is that, despite your hard rugged exterior and this facade of indifference you put on, somewhere in that big muscly chest of yours there is piece of you that cares about me,” he stops pacing to give Geralt a slight smirk, crossing his arms confidently over his chest. 

The Witcher looks less than pleased, “You talk too much.” He rises to his feet and starts walking away into the night. 

Well that wasn’t the result Jaskier wanted. “Geralt where are you going? I bring up a well supported argument about the potential of you having any sort of feelings besides rage and you have to walk off into the woods to brood?” Jaskier can’t help the frustration in his tone, though he was surprised at its genuinity. 

The Witcher stops. Jaskier watches him ball his hands into fists, like he was trying to decide if this argument was worth it or not. He turns an enraged expression back to the bard. Apparently it was. 

“My anger was not at your incompetence,” Geralt takes a few menacing steps back in Jaskiers direction, his voice loud and gritty. The shorter man is suddenly realising that he may have pushed a button that he shouldn’t have, “my anger was at the fact that despite choosing to travel with a Witcher, that you still do not know when to be afraid,”

With that, Geralt unclenches his fists and walks off into the woods. 

Huh. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to make of that. Clearly Geralt’s point had been that Jaskier should be afraid of him, but… Jaskier wasn’t. Should he be? The whole display was fairly threatening but Jaskier had never taken Geralt’s big scary Witcher schtick seriously. It was clearly an act, even if Geralt would never admit to it. He knew he would never actually hurt him, right? The whole debacle had his head spinning. 

He sits down. Why get so spun up about a bit of teasing? Jaskier lays back, deciding he’d rather be asleep when Geralt gets back. 

As Jaskier drifts off listening to the sounds of the crackling fire he hears the Witcher return quietly. He finds the man’s steady breathing oddly comforting. Before he can think too much about it, sleep overtakes him.


	3. The Lead

**Geralt’s POV**

Geralt woke up angry. He suspected it probably had something to do with whatever the fuck Jaskier was trying to pull last night but he didn’t really care enough to sort it out. All he knew was that the nearest town was a few hours away and then he could be rid of Jaskier for good. No more prodding and teasing and accusing and singing. No more distractions. 

For some reason that thought didn’t completely soothe his anger. He decided not to think about it. 

The pair packed up and hit the road rather quickly. Jaskier hadn’t said much, which had been nice because Geralt didn’t want to talk to him. About an hour into their walk the bard’s boredom had gotten the better of him and he was chatting away again. 

“I haven’t been to Kaedwen in years quite frankly. I have a friend who worked at one of the local taverns, another bard actually…”

Geralt tunes him out. He was less than interested in Jaskier’s petty business. He was here for a lead and maybe a real bed to sleep in, if only for a night. 

They arrive to town around noon. Geralt decides the local tavern is the best place to start in finding this lead. The man that had tipped him off in the first place had said something about a wealthy lord looking for a Witcher, surely someone would be able to point him in the right direction. 

The Witcher steps into the tavern in full armor, a curious but tired Jaskier in tow. The tavern’s patrons go quiet as they enter, nothing new for Geralt. 

“Geralt, why are we in a dingy tavern if we’re looking for a lord?” the bard questions quietly.

“I’m not about to walk into high society Kaedwen without a valid reason Jaskier, now make yourself useful and earn us a room for the night,”

‘Excuse me?” the bard looks oddly concerned at this request

Geralt motions to the lute on his back.

“Oh. Right.” Jaskier sets to work getting the tavern’s attention and coin. Idiot.

Meanwhile, Geralt pulls a the bartend aside, “I’m here about a lord asking for a Witcher,”

The woman nods, a look of distrust plain across her face, “Lord Aram’s asking for a Witcher, says he wants a specific one though,”

“Which one?”

“The Butcher of Blaviken, ain’t that you?” 

Geralt furrows his brow and turns back to see Jaskier singing of his “achievements” to a rather skeptical audience, “Where can I find him?”

“Up the road about mile, guards can point you in the right direction,”

Geralt nods, “Thanks.” The Witcher had been requested by name before, it's always left a sour taste in his mouth. 

He decides to leave Jaskier behind. The bard would catch up with him eventually, as he always did. It would be nice to have a moment of peace though, the past few days had been… frustrating, to say the least. 

The Witcher makes his way up the road with Roach. Guards stop him about a mile up just as expected. With a quick explanation Geralt is pointed towards a large estate sitting on the edge of a fair sized ranch. 

Once he arrives, he ties up Roach and approaches the door cautiously. Something about the whole thing still didn’t feel right. Wealthy elites only requested Witcher’s for their own gain and Geralt didn’t want anything to do with whatever business the lords of Kaedwen got up to. Against his better judgement, Geralt knocks. 

The door opens revealing a short woman who jumps rather dramatically at the sight of Geralt.

“I’m looking for Lord Aram,” Geralt says bluntly.

The woman nods and motions for him to come in. The door opened into a large entryway, well furnished and fairly spotless. The Witcher feels immediately out of place. He follows the woman through intricately decorated hallways and into a large office. 

“He’ll be with you in a moment,” she says. She steps around Geralt as if he’s a rabid dog and quickly leaves the room. 

The Witcher now found himself standing in a gaudy office wondering what the fuck was going on. Books line the shelves around him and he decides to sit on the large desk in the center of the room. Maybe he should’ve brought Jaskier after all, the bard was much better at formal things like this. Geralt shakes off the thought quickly, reminding himself that he’s still mad at him. 

After much too long a tall, gaunt man steps into the room. He’s dressed in nice clothes and his thinning gray hair is slicked back on his head. Geralt already doesn’t like him. 

“Ah well if it isn’t the Butcher of Blaviken,” So this is how this was going to go.

“You asked for a Witcher,” it’s more of a statement than a question. He remains seated on the desk.

“I did, and for you in particular, Geralt of Rivia, but where are my manners? My name is Lord Charles Aram,” he sticks out a hand for Geralt to shake which is promptly ignored.

“What do you want?” He doesn't care for pleasantries. 

“Right to the point kind of man, I like it. You see, Witcher, I have a monster problem I need taken care of, and I’m willing to pay highly of course,”

Geralt was waiting for the catch, “What kind of monster?”

“A witch.” There it is. 

Geralt lets out a heavy sigh, “I don’t kill sorcerers.”

“I assure you sir, she is more than a mere sorcerer, she is an affront to nature, a creature of great darkness, a witch!” The man’s voice is loud and angry. He was quite sure of himself, the Witcher hated that.

Geralt knots his face into a tight frown. He had come all this way at the promise of good coin and a good hunt but instead he got this. “I kill monsters. Sorcerers are not monsters. I can’t help you,” Geralt gets up to leave. Lord Aram blocks his path putting two arms up to stop him. 

“Please Witcher she’s bewitched my daughter!” There’s a desperation in his voice that Geralt doesn’t care for. 

“I don’t get involved in human affairs, especially those that involve sorcerers,” He pushes past the man. Geralt had been around long enough to know when he was outmatched and he was not about to go toe to toe with an experienced magic user for some random lord’s petty business. He was leaving. 

“That didn’t stop you from slaughtering those people in Blaviken, Witcher!” The lord barks in Geralt’s direction.

Normally the Witcher would have kept walking, but he was in a particularly bad mood today. He turns back to the man, “You shouldn’t speak on things you know nothing about, Lord” 

Geralt watches fear flash across the man’s face, “I can pay you double,”

“No,” Geralt turns to leave again. He’d had enough of this nonsense. 

The man huffs, “I had a feeling you might say that,” there’s a discontent in his voice, but not the same desperation as before, “so I took some precautions,”

Geralt hears the front door fly open violently followed by a shuffling and a soft thud. “What are you talking about?” He sneers.

The man smirks in response. A muffled yelling noise rings out through the house. Geralt would recognize those irksome vocal chords anywhere. 

The Witcher storms back through the house and into the entryway to find two of what he can only assume are Lord Aram’s lackeys and on the floor between them a gagged and bound Jaskier.


	4. The Deal

**Jaskier’s POV**

They had grabbed him at the tavern, not long after he’d watched Geralt leave without him. Which, if he had been honest, hurt a little bit. But not nearly as much as the tankard to the back of the head. The next thing Jaskier knew he was bound, gagged and sitting quite uncomfortably over the shoulder of a very tall man. 

Jaskier had done a fair amount of mental math trying to decipher who his captors were and why it was him they wanted. He had ruled out a few key players (or rather folks whose spouses he’d slept with) early on and he was fairly certain this wasn’t a cult thing. That left only a few options. Maybe Geralt was right about his songs being bad and the townsfolk were taking out their frustrations? No that couldn’t be it. Maybe this was just a run of the mill kidnapping? No, Jaskier was too important for that. He would’ve thrown his head back dramatically if he weren’t being carried through the center of town. 

Oddly enough no one seemed to bat an eye at a very obvious kidnapping. Even the guards had looked away when Jaskier attempted to scream in their general direction. 

It was only upon seeing Roach outside of the nice estate that it finally occurred to Jaskier that this maybe had something to do with his friend the Witcher. Regardless of why, this meant that the tall, scary man was somewhere nearby. These guys were so royally fucked.

He had been carried into the nice home and promptly tossed onto the floor. Wasting no time Jaskier did his best to yell for the Witcher. If Geralt was here he’d certainly save him. 

As expected the Witcher stepped into the entryway angry and only getting angrier by the second. He reaches for his sword when he’s interrupted. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you Witcher,” a voice from behind him says. A tall man steps into view. Jaskier didn’t like the look of this guy.

“Why is the bard here?” Geralt asks, hand still on his sheathed sword. 

“I knew you wouldn’t kill the witch without a viable reason, and at the highly likely outcome that you didn’t like mine, I needed another,” Was Jaskier meant to be a bargaining chip? Despite his varied life experiences, this was new.

Geralt moves the hand off his sword, “And you think the bard is a good enough reason?”

“I’ve heard you two travel together, I figured you’d care for him enough to not prefer to watch him die,” At that one of the lackeys grabs Jaskier by the hair and puts a knife to his throat. He was having a considerably worse time every second this encounter went on. 

“Leave him out of it,” Geralt says, his voice dark and heavy, “He’s just a bard,” Not the wonderful speech Jaskier had hoped for but it would suffice.

“Oh so we should kill him then?” the man replies.

The lackey pushes the knife harder into Jaskier’s throat. Apparently it wouldn’t suffice. Panic begins to set in and he attempts to struggle away. The lackey holds him in place. Jaskier looks to the Witcher with pleading eyes.

“Stop.” Geralt says, gritting his teeth. Lord Aram motions to the men with a hand. The knife is pulled away and Jaskier is shoved face first onto the ground. Geralt steps towards him but is stopped by the other lackey’s sword. 

He looks up and makes eye contact with Geralt for only a moment. He sees a rage behind those amber eyes, and for the first time in a few days it’s not directed at him. 

“You see Witcher, everyone has their vulnerabilities,” Geralt’s attention is turned back to the asshole. 

“He’s not my vulnerability. This isn’t a matter that concerns him and he shouldn’t die for it,” At least Geralt was being logical. 

“Well, regardless, shall we discuss my terms?”

“What’s to stop me from killing all of you right now?” Geralt growls.

“How about that fragile reputation of yours? You think killing a lord of Kaedwen will do you any good? Many townsfolk and guards saw you two ride into town and then up to my door. It’d be fairly simple to find the culprit if me and my associates wound up dead in my home.” The man steps towards Jaskier and crouches down to his level, “Honestly I’m surprised you even considered it. This bard must mean an awful lot to you, Witcher.”

Geralt lets out a heavy sigh, Jaskier can see his hands ball into fists. “Your terms then?” He spits out. 

The man grabs Jaskier’s chin pulling his face up towards him to get a better look, “You bring me the witch’s head and your bard gets to keep his,”

“How can I assure you won’t kill him before I return?” Geralt asks. Jaskier had been wondering the same thing if he was being honest. He didn’t like the idea of Geralt leaving him with these mad men. 

The man lets Jaskiers face fall back to the floor, “I can give you my word. You kill that satanic woman and your bard will keep every hair on his pretty little head,” Jaskier has had enough of this. He tries to maneuver his way onto his knees but is shoved back to the ground by one of his captor’s feet. 

“I will not take your word as sufficient,” Geralt growls.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice Witcher, I can assure you I am an honest man,” he gives Geralt a smile. The smile of a man who has the upper hand in this particular situation.

“Do honest men bargain lives in Kaedwen?” 

“Oh don’t be rash, it’s just business. Besides, you are no saint yourself Geralt of Rivia”

Geralt grimaces, thinking over his next move. Jaskier was having a mixed bag of emotions. On one hand he hated that his life had been chalked up to “just business” on the other there was something about the idea of him Geralt’s vulnerability that had piqued his interest. Granted the situation was a bit too harry at the moment to consider it seriously.

His thoughts are interrupted by Geralt taking a threatening step towards the man. “If I return and he is harmed in any way I will slaughter you, reputation or not,” his voice is low and angry. 

“Once again, you have my word Witcher,”

Geralt still looks unsatisfied with this, “Where’s the sorcerer?”

“South of town, in a little hut on the edge of the river. I must warn you she’s proficient at all types of witchcraft including mind magic,”

The Witcher presses his lips together as if holding his tongue. 

“I will also ask that once my daughter is broken from her spell you bring her back to me,”

Geralt rolls his eyes, “I cannot force your daughter to return home if she doesn’t to,”

“Why wouldn’t she want to?” Jaskier had a running theory. “She’s been bewitched!” 

Geralt says nothing. 

“If I get wind of any funny business the bard dies. You have until midnight”

“A time limit too then?” Gerralt says.

“It is still daylight Witcher, you have plenty of time to get the job done and get your lovely musician back unscathed,”

“Hmm.” Geralt looks down to Jaskier like he wants to say something. The pair makes eye contact. Jaksier is trying to communicate what he can with only his eyes, more specifically ‘For the love of god Geralt don’t leave me here!’ Something tells him that the message was lost as the Witcher steps over him and towards the front door. 

“So we have a deal then?”

“I’ll be back,” Geralt huffs.

The door slams behind him.


	5. The Witch

**Geralt’s POV**

Geralt storms out of the building absolutely seething. Humanity's capacity for bullshit never fails to surprise him. And to drag the bard into it… Geralt refuses to give name to the rage he felt at having Jaskier used against him. 

The Witcher mounts Roach and rides quickly in the direction Lord Aram had instructed him. His brow furrowed into a deep crease as he thought about what had just transpired. Geralt hated being fooled. Especially if it was over some petty human affairs. But this, this was something else entirely. Blackmailing was one thing but at the expense of Jaskier’s life… It made Geralt want to break something. 

A good half hour of riding and seething later Geralt has reached his destination. He leaves Roach a ways back and approaches the little hut by foot. He decides to trek through the surrounding plains to the right of the hut. The quaint garden that sat out front would do little as far as cover goes. He wanted to get this done as quickly and painlessly as possible. 

Soon enough he has reached the side of the home. With his back pressed to the stone wall he listens closely for any signs of life within. He can make out two faint voices talking quietly. The Witcher decides to make a move for the door. He ducks under the open window and attempts to move silently. A sudden voice halts his efforts.

“You could’ve walked up the path, I would’ve at least heard you out before killing you,”

Fuck. 

Geralt stands up to see a short round woman sticking her head through the window. She smiles knowingly as her curly brown hair blows softly in the breeze. “Would you like to come in Witcher?”

What a fucking day. Geralt sighs and nods. The front door swings open a few feet from him. The woman moves through the house to meet him before he steps inside, ‘I’ll ask you leave your weapons outside,”

“You still have yours sorceress. How would that be fair?”

She nods, “Very well,” She steps aside letting Geralt enter. What had looked like a simple stone hut from the outside had become a spacious well decorated home. Undoubtedly magic in nature. Geralt spots another woman. She is tall with short cropped blonde hair lounging on a blue daybed. She sits up at Geralt’s entrance. The fear he was used to seeing in others faces at his presence was replaced with curiosity. She must be the Lord’s daughter.

“Please have a seat, do you like tea?” Geralt wasn’t used to hospitality from people he was trying to kill. Nevertheless he nods and obliges, taking a seat at the large oak table in the middle of the room. 

He watches cautiously as the woman pulls three cups from a cabinet and grabs a bowl of tea leaves from another. She sets all of it on the table and throws a pinch of the leaves into each cup. She then grabs a kettle from the stovetop and pours steaming water over each. Geralt does not break his gaze.

“Tea darling?” She says to the lord’s daughter.

Geralt hears her rise from the daybed and walk over. The sorcerer slides a cup of tea in her direction and another in Geralt’s. He looks down at it before looking back to her, “Do you take me for a fool?”

“It is just chamomile Witcher,” 

Geralt huffs. He does not drink it.

She sits across from him as the other woman returns to her daybed, “You were sent by Lord Aram were you not?”

Geralt nods in response. His skepticism sat plain on his face. 

“Bastard,” the blonde woman says from the other side of the room. Geralt agreed but now wasn’t the time. 

“I thought Witchers were smart enough to not get tangled with sorcerers,” the shorter woman says. 

“Normally I am,” he can feel the daughter’s eyes staring daggers into the side of his face, “But the situation’s a bit more complicated than that,”

“How much is he paying you? I can very easily match it,”

Geralt scoffs, “You think I’m here for money? No amount of coin would be enough to get involved willingly in whatever the fuck is going on here,” 

The sorcerer stands up at this. She moves around the table towards him slowly. Geralt puts a hand on his dagger that’s sat as his waist. “Then why are you here Witcher?”

An image of Jaskier gagged and bound, eyes pleading, flashes through his mind. He jumps from his seat, drawing his dagger and lunging at the woman. She grabs his wrist before he can make contact and blasts him backwards with a force of blue magic.

Geralt hits the back wall knocking a shelf of plants to the floor. This is why he didn’t fight sorcerers. The woman watches him carefully, waiting to see what he would do next. 

He rises to his feet, drops the dagger, and draws his steel sword from its sheath. The blonde has sat up, a fear in her eyes.

“You know you can’t win,” the sorceress says. Geralt knows she’s right but he was certainly going to try if it meant Jaskier got to live. He steps towards her slowly, sword in hand. “What stake do you have in this?”

He answers by closing the gap and swinging at her. She blocks it with a magic shield. Geralt follows through with a quick kick to her knee which throws her off balance long enough for Geralt to swing again. This one connects with her arm, slicing through flesh and knocking her to the ground. The Witcher pulls back and attempts to plunge the sword down through her chest. She grabs the blade with a hand illuminated in blue magic. The other sends another blast of magic energy into the side of Geralt’s head.

The Witcher hits the floor again. His head is ringing and he’s realized he dropped his sword. He sits up and quickly and reaches for its hilt. Before he can the sorcerer hits him again with magic. A paralyzing pain spreads through his body, this was a stronger magic than he’d fought before. 

He rolls onto his back attempting to get a grip on the dizziness that had encapsulated his head. The woman stands over him and reaches down towards his face. “Don’t worry it’ll all be over soon,” Geralt attempts to move out of reach but the world is spinning around him. As her hand makes contact with his face the spinning turns to blackness.


	6. The Bard Keeps Thinking

**Jaskier’s POV**

After Geralt had left so unceremoniously, Jaskier had been dragged into the basement and thrown into a prison cell. What kind of mad man has a prison cell in his basement? They hadn’t even bothered removing his gag or wrist bindings. At least now he was sat up against a wall instead of face down on the floor. 

It had been an hour or so and Jaksier had grown bored of counting cobwebs and pretending he wasn’t entirely astounded by the whole situation. This obviously wasn't the first time a bargain had to be made for his life, however he was normally the one making it, not Geralt or some uppity asshole. That thing the asshole had said stuck out to him though, about being Geralt’s vulnerability. He wasn’t sure how much truth there was to it but even Jaskier had to admit, Geralt doesn’t get involved in things like this for just anyone. 

Even if it wasn’t true, and Geralt was just doing this because letting Jaskier die didn’t align with his ever graying moral compass, why did Jaskier care? He knew regardless Geralt would kill whatever he had to kill and the bard would sing another day but Jaskier couldn’t stop thinking about that rage in Geralt’s eyes. It was nearly identical to the fire he had spewed at Jaskier after the whole centipede debacle. It could’ve been easily mistaken as typical Witcher furiousness, but Jaskeir knew better. Geralt had a bad habit of letting any emotion he had fuel his anger and the bard had gotten pretty good at deciphering it. There was drunk angry, ‘I’m tired’ angry, ‘Jaskier I’m going to kill you’ angry, but this wasn’t some basic tinder. Something else had been bothering the Witcher and Jaskier had been thrown, rather unfairly, at the receiving end of this new flame.

But why did he care? He asked himself again. The Witcher’s intentions had never troubled Jaskier beyond knowing when prodding was going to ignite an argument or not. Yet he found himself unreasonably curious about what secrets hid behind that furrowed brow this time. Whatever it was, it was nothing the bard had seen before. 

He would sigh dramatically if he could. He supposed now was as good a time as ever to dive deep into the bundle of emotions that was his relationship with the Witcher. 

Jaskier had never tried to silence his attraction to Geralt. The bard had eyes after all, Geralt was tall, strong, rugged, handsome... He was also well aware of the redness in his face whenever the Witcher got too close and the butterflies in his stomach when their banter tip toed the line between friendly and flirty. But Jaskier was also smart enough to know that it was never going to happen. 

Geralt was hard to read, even by Witcher standards, but one can learn a lot by following him around for as long as Jaskier had. That being said all the bard had really learned was that whatever feelings the Witcher had for him were tolerably platonic, at best.

These past few days though… Jaksier didn’t want to put hope where it didn’t belong but it was clear something was different with Geralt. 

Maybe there was something different about him too though. Jaksier’s attraction to the Witcher had never been more than the average daydream or fairly crude fantasy. Lately, however, he found himself watching Geralt’s every move, overthinking every word, every look, every facial expression. Pretending otherwise would be blatantly dishonest. 

If this was more than just a simple attraction, and that was an “if” Jaskier wasn’t ready to entertain just yet, what would he even do about it? Say he gets out of this dingy basement in one piece, what then? Does he confess right then and there? Does he let Geralt make the first move? What if Geralt doesn’t even feel the same way?

The idea of Geralt’s rejection floods his mind. He wouldn’t be gentle about it, that wasn’t in character for him at all. He would probably laugh, tell Jaskier he was an imbecile or something of that nature and the pair would never speak of it again. The thought fills Jaskier with a heavy sadness. Not bringing it up in the first place seemed like the better option. Geralt wouldn’t even get a chance to spear his heart with his silver sword.

But what if he did feel the same way? What if Jaksier confesses and Geralt says ‘Oh Jaskier I love you too, let’s run away together!’ Well he probably wouldn’t say it like that… Even though, the idea sends the bard’s stomach aflutter, a feeling he both loves and hates. 

Jaskier wants to scream. The whole thing was infuriating to think about. He should’ve let the sleeping dogs lie in his mind. But they had been stirred and a heavy realization washes over the bard. He was in love with the Witcher.


	7. The Plan

**Geralt’s POV**

Geralt jolts awake. He sits up quickly and is hit with a splitting headache.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice says. The sorcerer.

The world is still spinning around him. His vision is blurry but he thinks they’ve moved him to the daybed. 

“The more you move the worse it will get,” the same voice warns.

The Witcher flops back down onto the lounge and puts his hands over his face, “What have you done to me,” he growls. 

“Just a bit of dizzy magic,” he hears the voice move closer to him, “I can stop it if you wish to have a civil conversation now,” 

Geralt groans in response, a wave of nausea overcomes him, “Why didn’t you just kill me?”

“I don’t kill without a good reason, Witcher, something, I believe, you and I have in common. Are you going to tell me why you're here?”

Geralt tries to open his eyes again. The ceiling is a blurry mess of color above him, “Fine.” He grunts. The woman sets a hand on his chest and within seconds the world returns to it’s normal, stable state.

The Witcher sits up and rubs his face. He has a realization, “Where are my weapons?”

“We had to take some precautions, just be glad you’re not tied up,” 

Geralt stares daggers at her. She was at eye level with him sitting hunched.

“Tea?”

Geralt huffs and then nods begrudgingly. He moves to the table slowly as she prepares the tea again. The other woman is staring at him menacingly. Another realization washes over him as he waits. Sunlight was no longer pouring through the home's windows. Night had fallen. 

“What time is it? How long was I out?” 

“About 2 hours after dusk, you were out for about 4,” Fuck. 

Geralt stands abruptly.

“Your deal is time sensitive?” the short woman asks.

“I need to…” His thoughts are racing, he had to come up with something to get Jaskier out and he had to do it fast.

“Sit, drink,” she says, setting the cup in front of him. 

Geralt’s not sure why but he obliges. He takes a sip of the tea cautiously. Chamomile. 

“Great,” She sits across from him, “Now, your name?”

Geralt didn’t have time for this, “Geralt of Rivia,”

The sorcerer nods, “I’m Afre of Hamerwen and this is Hildi Aram,” she gestures to the blonde woman. “Now, tell me what the lord has on you and you might just make it out of here alive,”

Geralt sighs, there was no other way out of this, “They have my bard,”

Afre looks at him quizzically.

“My traveling companion, Lord Aram took him hostage and intends on killing him if I don’t return with his daughter and your head by midnight,” 

Hildi scoffs at this. Afre takes her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Geralt’s suspicions had been confirmed. This had nothing to do with Afre’s sorcery and all to do with Hildi being in love with her. He should’ve never gotten involved.

Afre turns her attention back to the Witcher, “You must care very much for this bard to agree to something like that,”

Why did everyone keep saying that? “This wasn't his fight, he shouldn’t die for it.”

“And I should?” She snaps back. She had him there. Geralt wasn’t one to bargain lives like this normally. Something has been clouding his judgement, something vaguely bard shaped.

“The longer I sit here the closer he gets to death,” Geralt says, that familiar rage creeping back into his tone. 

“Why not just kill my father when you had the chance?” Hildi chimes in.

“I can’t just kill a member of higher society Kaedwen. I’m still a Witcher,”

Afre thinks for a moment, “What if we help you?”

“What?” 

“We won’t kill him, but if you return empty handed your bard will be killed without a second thought,” Geralt nods, confused, “We go with you, pretend you died and we want revenge, you sneak in and get your bard,”

Geralt contemplates this. There was no doubt in his mind that Afre could hold her own against Lord Aram’s lackeys but… “I tried to kill you, why would you help me?”

“Like you said, this isn’t his fight, he shouldn’t die for it,”


	8. The Rescue

**Jaskier’s POV**

Jaskier had dozed off waiting for Geralt. All that thinking had worn him out. He woke up to a dull ache in his shoulders, probably from the position his bound arms had been in for hours. The basement was dark save for an oil lamp by the stairs. Jaskier wasn’t sure how long it had been but he had a suspicion the Witcher was cutting it close. Geralt always had a flair for the dramatic.

Suddenly a loud crashing comes from the floor above. It’s about damn time. Jaskier listens to another 30 seconds of shouting and crashing when the door to the basement is thrown open. Jaskier sits up on his knees, he’s ready to be done with this. 

His excitement is squashed as he realizes it’s the uppity asshole barreling down the stairs and not his white haired savior. The man races down and unlocks the door with a ferocity and desperation of someone who’s out of options. Jaskier’s suspicions are confirmed as an enraged Geralt comes into view. 

Before the bard can think the man steps around him, yanks him to his feet, and puts a dagger to his throat. This again. Jaksier attempts to struggle away but a hand on shoulder holds him in place. He hears another shout and crash from upstairs. Someone else was here too. 

Geralt steps into the basement, steel sword drawn. The lamp light illuminates his terrifying expression. 

“Don’t take another step Witcher, or your precious bard gets it,” the man yells. Jaskier can hear the fear in his voice. 

Geralt stops his progression, “I suggest you think about what your doing, the only way you walk out of this alive is if he does too,”

“So all those rumors about heartless Witchers are lies then? You do care for this worthless bard after all,” worthless was a little harsh. Jaksier looks to Geralt’s face for any hint of a reaction. It could be a trick of the light but Jaskier is fairly certain he sees a flicker of something besides anger flash through the Witcher’s eyes. “Maybe I’ll kill him then, if only to say I bested Geralt of Rivia, I know his weakness!” The pressure on his throat gets harder and the dagger starts to break skin. Jaskier decides he’s done being afraid. 

The bard throws his head backwards clumsily making contact with the man’s nose which in turn makes a horrifying crack. He yelps in pain lossens his grip enough for Jaskier to squirm free. The bard miscalculates a step and falls forward onto the stone floor. Unable to catch himself, his chin hits the stone and bursts open. 

Geralt rushes into the fray and lands a hit on the man with the hilt of his sword. His body crumples to the ground unconscious.

Jaskier feels a sword cut the bindings on his hands and head. He rolls over onto his back and sits up. He pulls a hand to his bleeding chin, yelping as he makes contact, hand now soaked in blood.

Geralt has crouched down to his level. He grabs the bard's wrist, “Don’t touch it,” Geralt’s tone wasn’t soft by any means but it was the most genuine Jaskier had ever seen him. 

Jaskier has a million things he wants to say, but what come out is, “Took you fucking long enough,” 

The Witcher gives him a soft smile. Jaskier melts inside. “Jaskier I-”

He’s interrupted by a pair of women charging down the stairs, “Geralt! Is he alive? Are you alive?”

The Witcher stands back up and turns away from Jaskier, “The bard is fine. The lord is all yours.”

The two women come into Jaskier’s view, one short with dark hair, the other tall, blonde, “What’s going on here? Since when does Geralt have other friends?” Jaskier had had a long day; he was not going to take a break from insulting the Witcher anytime soon. 

The shorter one laughs as Jaskier gets to his feet, “I’m Afre of Hamerwen this is Hildi Aram, you must be Jaskier, the bard we keep hearing about” 

Jaskier starts connecting the dots, he turns to Geralt whose demeanor has quickly shifted back to it’s usual insufferable state, “You made friends with the witch you were supposed to kill?”

“She didn’t give me much of a choice. Come on let’s get out of this rotting basement” It’s more of a command then a suggestion, either way Jaskier is all in favor

The blonde one, Hildi, has walked over to her father’s body, “You didn’t kill him did you?”

“No, the bard did break his nose though, and he might wake up a bit hazy,” Geralt answers as he steps out of the cell. Jaskier follows but is stopped by the sorcerer. She steps into his path and stares up at him as if searching for something.

“Uh, did you need something?” Jaskier asks, unable to look away from her piercing stare

“Just trying to figure out why a Witcher cares so much for a bard,” Jaskier feels his cheeks burn red. Geralt storms up the stairs. “You are not as closed a book as you think Geralt,” she calls up to him. 

Jaskier’s head is spinning, “I think I should go…” He steps around her.

“Wait!” She hold out a vial in his direction, “For the bruises,” 

Jaskier nods and takes it before walking quickly up the stairs to find Geralt. 

“You might want to deal with those cuts too!” 

Jaskier had been so preoccupied with the damn Witcher that he’d forgotten he was still bleeding. He opts to deal with it later, right now he needed to talk to Geralt. 

He reaches the top of the stairs to see Geralt storming through the front door. Jaskier chases after him desperately, “Geralt!” 

The Witcher does not stop. 

He tries again, “Geralt hold on just a fucking second!”

Geralt stops and turns back giving Jaskier enough time to catch up, “What is it bard?” Any remnants of kindness Jaskier had seen in the basement were gone from him. That familiar fire was once again aimed at him.

“Are you-Are we not going to talk about this at all?”

“What is there to talk about?”

Of fucking course. “What is there to talk abou-Geralt I just got kidnapped, had to watch you bargain for my fucking life and then leave me with that lunatic and now,” He gestures to his bloody chin and neck, “I’m still bleeding and you want to just storm off again?”

“I just saved you Jaskier, what more do you want from me?” Geralt shouts. Jaskier is having none of this.

“I didn’t ask you to Geralt! If you hate it so much, if you hate me so much, why do you keep doing it, why not just let me get eaten by centipedes or fucking killed by kidnappers?”

The Witcher balls his hands into fists, anger radiating off his whole body. “Fucking hell Jaskier, if you weren’t insistent on following me everywhere, none of this would’ve happened in the first place!” At that he turns and walks toward where Roach is waiting.

“Oh so being kidnapped as a means to get you is my fault now?”

Geralt says nothing as he mounts Roach. 

“Are you really just going to leave me here? At least give me something to bandage my face,”

Geralt huffs and throws a bag at Jaskier’s feet before riding off into the night. 

Asshole.


	9. The Witcher Starts Thinking

**Geralt’s POV**

Geralt wakes up at the inn the next morning, alone. The argument from the previous night rings through his head again. Once again he decides not to think about it. He wants nothing but to get out of this stupid fucking city, but he didn’t have enough coin to justify leaving yet. He decides to do a few hours of asking around for work and if nothing comes of it he would pack up and go. Alone this time. 

His decision to not think about Jaskier is rudely interrupted as he opens the door to his room to find the bard curled up on the floor, asleep. He had a messy bandage covering the cut on his chin. The one on his neck had already scabbed over. A wave of guilt washes over the Witcher. He takes a deep breath and nudges the bard with his boot. 

The bard jolts awake. He sits up and looks up toward Geralt, “I uh-I”

“Take the bed, I’m going to look for work,” 

Jaskier nods and stands. The pair shares a brief moment of eye contact of which Geralt breaks. He didn’t even want to think about Jaskier right now, much less talk to him. The bard steps around Geralt and into the tiny room. 

The Witcher spends the next few hours asking around for work. Most of his questioning is met with some rude comment or distrustful look. Apparently what happened last night had already spread through Kaedwen. Not even the beggars would speak to him. 

Eventually Geralt gives up. He’d had enough of Kaedwen. It was time to leave. As he makes his way back to the inn he remembers Jaksier. He’d have to leave him if he wanted any chance of focusing on the next job, whatever that might be. The thought of it makes the Witcher sick to his stomach. He decides to ignore that.

He knocks before opening the door to the inn’s room. Jaskier jumps as the Witcher steps in.

“Oh it’s just you,” He is hunched over his song book. Geralt suspects the events of yesterday would make at least a few good lyrics.

“I’m leaving,” The Witcher was wasting no time, he wanted this over with. 

Jaksier searches his face. The Witcher avoids eye contact. “Alone?” Jaskier’s pained tone drives a knife into whatever Geralt’s plans were for this conversation. 

He wants to say yes, or at least he thinks he does. It had all seemed so simple in his head. Seeing the man in person had changed things, a fact that frustrated him to admit.

Geralt lets out a heavy sigh, “I don’t care Jaskier,” It’s a lie and they both know it. 

“If you don’t want me, look me in the eyes and tell me,” Geralt raises an eyebrow, and Jaskier realizes what he’s said, “d-don’t want me to come with you that is,” 

Geralt would be fooling himself if he said he didn’t notice the redness in the bard’s face. “Do what you want we’re leaving in a half hour,”

With that Geralt leaves the room. What did he mean by ‘if you don’t want me’? It was too angry to be a simple slip of the tongue. Jaskier was not one to mince his words either. What sort of game was the bard playing this time? It pissed him off. 

\---

An hour or so later the pair find themselves back on the road. They hadn’t spoken yet and Geralt suspected they wouldn’t for a while. It was unsettling, traveling with Jaskier in silence. It was bothering the Witcher in a way he didn’t understand. 

The silence continues for most of the day. It’s nearing dusk when Geralt spots a tavern at the edge of a small village on the horizon. He mutters something about it to Jaskier who only nods in response. Not even a quip about aching feet or tired legs. 

The Witcher was worried. With another hour of walking ahead of him he finally lets his mind wander to the subject he’d tried all day to ignore. 

The picture of Jaskier being strangled by the centipede jumps out first. Geralt had been so angry with him after that. And if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely sure why. The bard’s incompetence was a common source of Geralt’s rage but this time it felt different, like something had been fueling it besides irritation. And then the bard had the audacity to bring it back up, questioning Geralt’s intentions, as if putting himself in harm's way wasn’t reason enough for the Witcher to lash out. 

His train of thought jumps forward to yesterday, Jaskier gagged and bound, those pleading, panicked eyes. Geralt grits his teeth involuntarily at the image. It had ignited something in the Witcher, something he wasn’t happy about. Anger aside, it had clouded his judgement. He had thrown himself willingly into some petty human bullshit, almost gotten killed by a sorcerer, was one misstep away from killing an innocent woman, and for what? For Jaskier?

Geralt glances over to the bard who’s clearly deep in his own thoughts as well. What was it about this tall, irritating, voluble man that threw the Witcher off his balance? 

Jaskier catches him staring. The pair makes eye contact. The bard gives him a confused look but does not break their shared gaze. Geralt’s concern must be evident in his face as Jaskier offers him a slight smile. 

Geralt snaps his attention back to the road, a heavy guilt washes over him as he replays their argument from the night before in his mind. He had been furious at the whole debacle. He knew it wasn’t Jaskier’s fault. He knew his anger wasn’t really with the bard. And yet… 

He needs to apologize. 

The Witcher stops Roach in her tracks. 

Jaskier pauses, confused, “Geralt?”

The Witcher says nothing. He stares ahead.

Jaskier turns to face him, “Is everything… alright?”

Geralt clenches his jaw before finally turning to look at the bard, “Jaskier… I’m sorry,”

A shock washes over the man’s face. It’s quickly replaced with that classic Jaskier attitude, “For which part in particular?” 

Geralt huffs. The bard knew the significance of this interaction and he was going to milk it for all its worth. Honestly though, he’d earned it. “For all of it. The centipedes, the arguments, the kidnapping… everything.”

The Witcher expects another snarky response. Instead Jaskier says, “Thank you. I’m sorry for… troubling you,” Jaskier looks at the ground. His sad tone was a stab to the gut.

The pair stands in awkward silence. “Well,” Jaskier says, “Shall we continue?”

He nods and the pair returns to their steady pace.

Jaskier returns to his usual chatty self almost immediately, rattling on about how he was never going back to Kaedwen. 

For some reason Geralt doesn’t feel better. Sure, some of the guilt had subsided but something still wasn’t right. He had apologized, what else could possibly be plaguing his mind? 

The bard’s rant continues, “-he didn’t even bother to ask my name by the way. What kind of kidnapper doesn’t bother to learn the name of their kidnappee?”

Geralt found himself staring again. He watches the bard’s mouth as his roast of Lord Aram goes on. It had always been fascinating watching Jaskier talk. Every word, every change in pitch or tone, every gesture was planned. It was a constant performance. Geralt always pretended not to listen, he didn’t want to fuel the bard’s ego. But, however much he hated admitting it, he enjoyed the bard’s ramblings, if only to tune out the menagerie of thoughts in his own head. 

Jaskier catches his eye, a slight blush grows in his face. He gives the Witcher a kind smile. 

Oh fuck. 

Geralt looks away quickly. It all made sense now, the anger, the clouded judgement... Idiot. Why hadn’t he seen it sooner? For fuck’s sake. Geralt wasn’t so dense as to refuse the idea that he cared about the bard. But something more… No. He wasn’t going to even entertain the thought. Not now at least. He decides to not think about it.

\--- 

The pair makes it to the inn at dusk. Jaskier had rambled on for most of it. Geralt had spent his time trying desperately to force his mind anywhere but on the bard walking next to him. It was getting increasingly difficult the longer the man talked. 

Geralt needs a drink. A few drinks. 

He sends Jaskier in to get them a room while he ties up Roach. Once alone he lets out a heavy sigh. Maybe he was just tired? He’d probably feel fine in the morning. It had just been a weird few days is all, nothing more. Deep breath.

He makes his way into the tavern. A few people turn their heads but nothing too serious. It was late and most of the patrons were probably drunk or close to it. Geralt fully intended on joining them in intoxication. He searches the room for Jaskier. 

The bard is speaking with a man whom Geralt assumes is the innkeeper. Based on Jaskier’s casual stance and grandiose hand movements, the Witcher suspects he’s negotiating a lower price and based on the innkeeper’s exasperated expression, it was working. 

Geralt takes a seat at one of the back tables waiting for the bard to finish his swindling. He waves to the bartend for a round of ale. 

Jaskier flops down at the table as the drinks are set down in between them. 

Geralt nods a thanks before drinking about half the glass in one gulp. Jaksier watches in a mixture of awe and concern. “Didn’t realize this was the plan for our evening,” he picks up his glass, “Cheers I suppose,” He raises the glass to Geralt and takes a normal sized sip. 

The night drones on for a bit. Jaskier had grown weary of the Witcher’s silent brooding and had consequently made friends with some of the locals. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to the bard… It was taking a lot of mental focus to not think about him and it’d be easier if he wasn’t here at all. 

Unfortunately Geralt found himself watching Jaskier anyway. He was telling a long, drawn out, mostly falsified story about one of their latest escapades. The bard had most of the tavern on the edge of their seats with this particular anecdote. They all sat, mouths agape, hanging on his every word. It was rather impressive.

Geralt had been counting the number of exaggerations and bold faced lies as he went on. There were at least 27 so far.

“-and then in the most vile fashion, it ripped the farmer in half, spilling gore and viscera all over the innocents!” The room collectively gasps.

28\. The bard throws a playful wink at him before continuing his tale. A warm feeling spreads through his chest.

Geralt had been too preoccupied with watching Jaskier’s effortless performance to entertain the thought from before that he had shoved away. But now, the alcohol was catching up to him. There was no way out of it, no other shelf to put it on, nowhere else for it to go.

The Witcher leans back in his chair, putting both hands over his face. Geralt was, undoubtedly and unfortunately, in love with the bard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far! The last chapter still needs some editing (Confessions are hard) but it should be up relatively soon!


	10. The Confession

**Jaskier’s POV**

Jaskier’s day was ending much better than it had started. He’d woken up sad and sore to a less than pleased Geralt and now he found himself tipsy with an entire tavern fawning over his every word. Not to mention the Witcher had actually apologized for the first time in the entirety of their friendship. Who would've guessed that all it took for the infamous Geralt of Rivia to fess up was the silent treatment?

With yesterday’s mess out of the way, Jaskier was able to actually entertain the idea of telling Geralt about the rather unfortunate realization he’d had in that dingy basement. It had quickly been tossed aside once the Witcher had settled back into his nightly brooding routine. Besides, the pair had had enough serious conversations for one day.

His emotions about Geralt aside, he was glad to be back on the Witcher’s good side. The brooding and angst is infinitely more tolerable if it isn’t directed at you. 

Even though… The man had been watching him all night. Jaskier would be a fool not to notice. At one point the bard threw a wink in his direction just to test the water. Geralt's eyes had gone wide before darting away. Sober Jaskier wouldn’t have known what to make of it and probably would’ve just shrugged it off, but tipsy Jaskier… He had a hunch. Luckily he still had a good handle on his inhibitions, another drink or two and the bard would’ve been on his knees confessing his love in more ways than one. The thought makes his cheeks burn red. 

Eventually his dramatic narrative reaches its climax. The tavern is cheering around him and it quickly escalates into a drunken mess of screams and laughter. He raises a glass to the mob and slips away as the noise continues. 

The bard makes his way back to the Witcher who’s still seated, arms behind his head, eyes closed. 

“What did my story put you to sleep?” Jaskier jabs. 

Geralt doesn’t move, “It was a good performance bard,”

“I’m sorry, are my ears mistaken or was that a compliment? How much have you had to drink Geralt?”

“Hmm, I take it back,” Jaskier noticed the slightest smile forming on the Witcher’s lips. 

Whatever game this was Jaskier was ready to play, “Tell me, what was your favorite part I must know,”

“The end,” he retorts. 

“No no no, you can’t back track now you said you liked it,”

Geralt opens his eyes and sits up, Jaskier feels his cheeks burn even more red at the sudden and intense eye contact, “I said it was a good performance, not that I liked it,”

“Oh so you're a fan of the performing arts now then? I find that a bit hard to believe seeing you were just as captivated as every drunkard in here,” Jaskier throws back. 

The Witcher’s lip twitches. Jaskier had thrown him off balance if only for a second. He fires back quickly, “Your obnoxious cadence tends to carry, hard to tune out something that vile.” He takes a swig of his ale. 

Jaskier was by no means done with this, “Do you always stare at vile things with that much desire?” Jaskier can’t help his gaze as it wanders to the Witcher’s lips. 

Geralt laughs, Jaskier can tell it’s a bit forced, “You must be drunk bard, to mistake impatience for desire,”

“Oh Geralt,” the bard leans back in faux exasperation. He sits back up, “I think we both know your impatient face has more of a furrowed brow and less of a redness in the cheeks,”

The Witcher rolls his eyes, “You are jumping to conclusions, Jaskier,” his tone slightly is less fun.

“And what conclusion might that be, Geralt?”

The man furrows his brow, as expected, and leans back in his chair, clearly tired of the conversation. 

“Ah so once again the mighty Witcher is put off by some gentle ribbing,” The frustration in Jaskier’s tone is painfully evident.

At that the Witcher stands up, says nothing, and walks through the drunken mob in the direction of their room for the night. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouts in his direction. He keeps walking. The bard huffs, he was not letting him storm off again. 

The bard maneuvers through the crowd in an attempt to catch the Witcher. Geralt is big and intimidating so the crowd parts for him easier than they do for Jaskier. Eventually he makes it to the door the Witcher had disappeared through just in time to have it slammed in his face. 

Jaskier pauses for a second. The pair has still only just reconciled. Was whatever this was worth ruining that? The bard takes a deep breath. Trust your instincts. Isn’t that what Geralt had said?

He twists the handle and pushes the door open slowly. The Witcher was sat on the floor with his back against the bed frame, hands covering his face.

“Leave me alone Jaskier,” 

“No,”

He drops his hands to the floor and looks up at the bard expectantly.

“I… Geralt, what the fuck is going on?” 

The Witcher says nothing and stares down at the floor

The bard starts pacing, “Every time we even come close the the subject of you feeling something more than an indifferent tolerance towards me you storm off to brood or whatever it is that Witcher’s do,” He pauses to take a breath, “I understand you’re not good with emotions or feelings or talking or basically anything social I suppose, but at this point it just seems like you’re avoiding the topic altogether and fuck! It’s infuriating and confusing as all hell Geralt! You keep getting my hopes up one minute and then squashing them with your ugly disgusting boots the next,” 

“Getting your hopes up?” The Witcher raises an eyebrow. 

Jaskier’s heart is beating so fast that he fears it may burst from his chest. “Yes Geralt! Isn’t it obvious? My attraction to you?” 

The Witcher only gives a shocked expression in response. 

Jaskier continues pacing refusing to look at Geralt, “I thought it was just a dumb little crush at first, a fun little fantasy to flirt around with but then I spent more and more time with you and it turned into this constant nagging in the back of my mind and then last night, while I was tied up waiting for you to be my fucking savior, it hit me, the handsome brooding asshole had in fact stolen my heart!” 

Jaskier is too wrapped up in his rambling to see the Witcher stand up, 

“And after the way you’d been acting the past few days I thought that just maybe it wasn’t crazy to fall for a Witcher because maybe the Witcher felt the same. So I thought maybe I’d let you cool off a bit then test the water again and maybe this time I’d get a straight answer out of you but here we are and here I am rambling like a mad man-”

Geralt grabs the bard’s wrist interrupting his tangent. Jaskier looks up. The Witcher’s face is unreadable, he stares down silently. 

Jaskier knows what this means. These few seconds felt like hours. An anxiety crept it’s way into the bard’s stomach. Was Geralt really just going to stand here and play with his heart like this? 

“If you’re going to break my heart can you just do it already,” He yells at the Witcher.

Geralt sighs and looks down at his hand which he slips from the bard’s wrist and to his hand. He squeezes it gently before looking back up the bard’s eyes.

“Jaskier…” A heavy weight settles on the bard’s shoulders, he knows what’s coming, Geralt looks away again, brow furrowed in thought. 

“Fuck.”

Before Jaskier can think the Witcher closes the space between them and kisses him. He pulls back quickly searching the bard’s face for approval. Jaskier is stunned into silence. Geralt stands before him, as vulnerable as the bard had ever seen him. 

“Sorry I- was that not-” The Witcher stammers. 

Jaskier laughs, a warm sense of relief fills his stomach. “No. This is great” He kisses the man again. 

After a gentle few seconds Geralt pulls away, “Jaskier… I don’t know what to call it, how to put it in words, but, I care for you in a way even I don’t understand. You cloud my judgement in a way that’s altogether infuriating.”

Jaskier looks up at him, a warm blush spreading through his cheeks.

“Fuck, Jaskier I almost killed an innocent woman for you,”

“But you didn’t!” Jaskier chimes in.

That gets a light chuckle from the Witcher before he continues, “I’ve been so angry the past few days and I thought I was just angry with you but…” Geralt sighs and looks to the floor, “I didn’t want you to get hurt Jaskier, I’m sorry”

“I’ll take a bit of responsibility for the centipede thing,” Jaskier says. Geralt looks up at him and gives him a small smile, “But… thank you.” 

“And,” The Witcher starts, “You don’t trouble me, I like having you around”

“Well now I know you’re joking,” Jaskier says.

Geralt grabs the bard's hands in his own, “I’m serious Jaskier. As entirely frustrating as you are, I like it when you’re here, I like you”

Jaskier’s blush has gotten painfully hot. The Witcher was fully smitten with him and he honestly wasn’t sure what to do now. He hadn’t planned this far ahead.

“But Geralt,” the bard says, “What that uppity asshole said, about me being your vulnerability. How are you supposed to be a big scary Witcher with a me sized blindspot? What if someone tries to use me against you again?”

“I will not let that happen again.” He stares into Jaskier’s eyes as he says this. The bard fully understands his seriousness. “Besides, despite what everyone thinks, even Witcher’s have soft spots”

Jaskier laughs at this, “I knew it!”

Geralt only rolls his eyes in response. 

“So… I just have one more question then” Jaskier says.

Geralt nods. 

“Did you actually like my story earlier or was that just you trying to flirt?”

Geralt somehow rolls his eyes even harder and in one quick movement scoops the bard off his feet and into his arms. “Typical bard, you tell him you care for him and he just wants to hear about his performance,”

Jaskier laughs and kisses the Witcher again. He pulls back to see those familiar amber eyes. Where that intense fire was before, there’s now a gentle warmth. A new sort of flame for a new kindling. The bard much prefers this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who made it this far and left comments and kudos it means a lot! :)


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